


follow through

by freezerjerky



Series: Bowling AU [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Bowling AU, Fluff, M/M, Trans Newton Geiszler, this is a fic about a bowling au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: Bowling league ends at ten. Sometimes they’re done early and everyone packs up with reassuring pats on the back around 9:45 but more often than not the teenagers who rent them their shoes glare daggers at them until they all stagger back. The bowling alley is open until midnight, so Newt finds this a bit absurd, but he also knows that they want other patrons to be able to rent their hideous and sweaty bowling shoes.in which Newt is not very good at bowling





	follow through

**Author's Note:**

> this is just...fluff I wrote for the sake of writing fluff. The bowling AU is something that came to me abruptly several weeks back and has not left me since. There might be more in the future?
> 
> Teen rating for some vulgar language and allusion to sex acts

Bowling league ends at ten. Sometimes they’re done early and everyone packs up with reassuring pats on the back around 9:45, but more often than not the teenagers who rent them their shoes glare daggers at them until they all stagger back. The bowling alley is open until midnight, so Newt finds this a bit absurd, but he also knows that they want other patrons to be able to rent their hideous and sweaty bowling shoes.

Tonight he’s opted to buy himself another hour to practice his technique. Tendo had spent half the evening with good natured barbs about how Newt can’t really focus on the game and how much he loves the gutter. He doesn’t love the gutter, honestly, it’s just that despite his dexterity in many things in his life, he hasn’t exactly managed how to bowl well. This would be less of an issue if he hasn’t been part of a bowling league for the better part of a year.

After his third gutter ball in a row, he turns around. Hermann’s still seated by the scoring machine, not looking up from his phone. Newt is, as always, taken by how good Hermann looks in the pink shirts for their team. Technically, Hermann isn’t on the team. It would be too painful to bowl with his leg and he’s really not all that interested in any sort of sports, but he comes along many weeks to see their friends and manually score their games. (He’s caught far too many errors on the score machine to trust it.) He does, however, provide excellent insight into how to best throw the ball (apparently knowing physics very well can do that) and allow Newt to sit in his lap sometimes when it’s not his turn to bowl. That’s why Hermann gets the pink shirt, too.

“We can just go home if you want,” Newt observes, sidling up to him. “I don’t think I’m going to magically get better tonight.”

Hermann looks up from his phone. A normal boyfriend would smile and reassure him that he’s improving or hard work will get the job done. Instead, Hermann’s face remains remarkably straight and he says, “Most definitely not.”

“I have the sweetest boyfriend,” he answers, rolling his eyes. “How did I get so lucky to find you?” He drops a kiss to the top of Hermann’s head anyway, and Hermann loops an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

“If it’s any comfort, I think if the team cared at all about your skills as a bowler, they’d have kicked you out months ago.”

“I just have this really weird aversion to being bad at things, you know?”

“Explains the dozen musical instruments in our flat you don’t play and why you lock yourself in the bedroom with video games, yes.”

“But that’s different. Other people don’t see me doing those things.”

People certainly see Newt in his failings as a bowler, not the least of which because Hermann often takes videos which he distributes to his small network.

Hermann sighs and pats the seat next to him, which Newt gladly slides into. He leans his head against Hermann’s shoulder. This isn’t him being dejected, necessarily, but he knows Hermann is less forthcoming with PDA after bowling league hours, so he’s taking what he can get.

“First of all, Newton. You’re rubbish at a lot of things you probably haven’t even tried yet,” Hermann says and while his tone is soft, it’s far from coddling.

“Building me up there, babe. I feel like the most powerful man in the world.”

“You enjoy doing this. You enjoy being around our friends and making them play arcade games and drinking the frankly atrocious beer with them.”

“They’re all really bad at DDR, Hermann.” He peers up at Hermann, stupidly attractive Hermann with his angular face and his far too long eyelashes.

“Mako beat you earlier, if I recall correctly.” Hermann wraps an arm around Newt, in a gesture that Newt thinks may be an attempt at a hug. “Why don’t you finish out your round so you can do that painfully obvious thing you do where you shake your ass when you know I’m looking?”

“Maybe you’re the problem,” Newt teases, reaching to angle Hermann’s face towards his own. He kisses him quickly. “You distract me when I’m trying to bowl.”

Hermann blinks a few times. “Ah, yes. I should have realized, it’s all my fault for looking so attractive in my oversized bowling shirt.”

“Dude, pink looks super good on you, why do you think I’m always trying to get you into the photo booth so I can give you a ha-”

“Newton,” Hermann warns.

Technically it was only one time. And they were already in the booth. With their friends. Newt hadn’t intended the friends to be there for the act itself which, in retrospect, Newt had actually asked for something involving Hermann’s hands instead, but the devil’s in the details.

Newt hefts a big sigh and stands, moving to retrieve his ball. He’s ordered a custom ball for the league with his name on it, and has since decided to decorate it haphazardly with stickers, defeating the purpose of paying so much money for a ball. He stands back, holding his ball up dangerously close to his face as he contemplates. Hermann’s been giving him pointers all night, but words like “velocity” really don’t mean anything to someone whose agenda is fully to throw the ball as hard as he can.

He strides forward, faltering just as his toes touch the circles denoting the farthest he can go. The ball graceless plops out of his hands and begins the agonizing roll down the alley. The path, at least, seems to be blissfully straight, but Newt’s remembering something Hermann had told him once about momentum. Not that he doesn’t understand basic physics, or bowling techniques, but there’s something far more appealing about hearing it in Hermann’s voice.

The ball slides down to the pins, gently tapping down two. They start a chain reaction until all of the pins have fallen save one, which wavers uneasily.

“Come on fucker!” Newt shouts, using his hands to amplify the sound.

The pin drops and the teenager with green hair who rents them shoes exclaims something about swearing.

“It’s almost eleven,” Newt retorts. “And I just got a strike, so I’m awesome.”

Newt’s not so bad that he never gets strikes, but he is bad enough that getting a strike is a chance for celebration. Hermann smiles at him, which is about as good of validation as he’ll get for this small victory. Anything else would seem inauthentic. He steps back by the scoring machine, leaning to kiss Hermann where he sits. That’s certainly the best reward for his bowling success.

“The sooner you finish, the sooner we can go home,” Hermann observes. “Not that I mind watching you bowl, but…”

“But?” Newt rubs his stubbly cheek against Hermann’s smoother one, then straightens up to stand.

“It is getting late.”

“And you’re enjoying staring at my butt a little too much, I know.”

“It’s the only part of you I’d describe as cute,” Hermann answers drily, but he rakes his eyes appreciatively down the rest of Newt to prove himself wrong.

“Luckily for me, I don’t need your validation.”

This natural tendency to tease is one of the things he’s always loved most about Hermann. Despite being a rather serious man, Hermann seems to understand that Newt doesn’t take himself or his life too seriously. Usually. Even when he’s being dramatic about his shitty bowling scores. In fact, Hermann’s possibly the only thing in his life that he is serious about.

“No, of course not,” Hermann replies. “That’s why you come over here to preen for me in between your turns, strutting like a tattooed peacock.”

“I’m generally just trying to get you to finger me in the photo booth, so that’s really not the same thing,” Newt answers cheekily.

“If you continue to be crass, I won’t be doing that at home either.”

“In the car?” Newt offers as he collects his ball. 

Hermann rolls his eyes rather dramatically, but in a way that makes him look entirely too pretty for his own good. Newt wants to kiss that put on annoyance off of his face, and he fully intends to later.

“That’s not a no, Herms.”

“I’m not afraid to leave you at this bowling alley, Newton.”

Newt doesn’t dignify that with a response (Hermann would never leave him behind) and instead moves in for his next turn. He lofts the ball up in the air, hoping for grace, instead it skips about halfway down the lane before decidedly rolling straight into the gutter. With a sigh he turns back to the table, this time instead of turning his attention to Hermann, he finishes off the last dregs of his beer. It’s warm and didn’t taste good even when it was cold so it’s even more unpleasant now. He grimaces and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Let’s just go home, Hermann,” he states. “I’m not going to get any better tonight.”

“Not tonight, no.” Hermann digs in his front pocket for the car keys. He likes to keep them close and safe in case Newt decides he wants to drive. While he fully acknowledges Newt’s ability to drive and need to do so in many circumstances, the demise of Hermann’s last car and the cause of it  still weighs heavily on both of their minds. This wouldn’t be such a problem if Hermann didn’t buy such shitty cars.

Collecting his ball, Newt walks back to the table and sits down. He zips it carefully into the bag for safekeeping until next Monday when he’ll hopefully be magically better at bowling. The shoes are next and the laces are tied a bit too tight, which proves to be a bit of a challenge, but he manages. Hermann’s slid his Doc Marten sneaker boots closer to Newt with the tip of his cane and that earns Hermann a grateful peck on the cheek.

To speed up the process, Hermann stands and returns the shoes while Newt laces his boots back up. They meet at the front doors, Newt’s spirits already lifted from his last gutter ball.

“You know,” Newt begins, “when Tendo teases me, I think he’s just jealous.”

“Why would he be jealous?” Hermann answers honestly, as his free hand seeks out Newt’s.

“Because I have a fan and he doesn’t.”

“Tendo has a beautiful wife, Newton, I don’t really think that’s the issue here-”

“Take the compliment, dude. I just mean it’s really cool that you come out to these things.”

“Can I let you in on a secret?”

They’ve arrived at Hermann’s car and Newt would have no choice but to listen as he waits for Hermann to unlock the car and let him in.

“What?” Newt asks, eagerly. Maybe this is yet another piece of Hermann to unravel.

“I really do only come out to bowling nights so I can look at your ass.”

“Well, duh,” Newt answers, but he pulls him in for a kiss. This one’s packing a bit more heat than the light kisses they’ve been sharing in the bowling alley and it’s only the knowledge that they’re still in public that breaks them away.

Bowling league night is awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @ pengragoff  
> on twitter @ newtguzzler


End file.
